


The Road And The Sea

by thepillowverse



Series: The Pillow Verse [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bunker Fic, Curtain Fic, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:24:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepillowverse/pseuds/thepillowverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No hanky-panky while I’m five feet away from you, okay?” he pleads, though Sam knows his words stand no chance against their constant need to make eyes at one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road And The Sea

**Author's Note:**

> **Chapter Thirteen:**  The Road And The Sea [[The Pillow 'Verse](http://thepillowverse.tumblr.com/masterpost)]  
>  **Author:**  Weatherers  
>  **Pairings/Characters:**  Dean/Castiel  
>  **Rating:**  M  
>  **Warnings:**  moderate sexuality; more of Sam bemoaning his life  
>  **Count:** ~2,300 words

It takes them a little over two days to drive to the coast of Maine. On their first fourteen hours of travel, they stop once to get gas and provisions at a 7-11, once at another gas station for a bathroom break, once more for snacks, and finally, at a diner with an adjacent inn to get some dinner and sleep.

Cas, in a show of uncharacteristic patience, had only complained  _twice_  about the lack of leg room in the back seat on the impala. He got away with it the first time because Dean was in a good mood about being back on the road, in his baby, with his two favorite people beside him. The second complaint was met with a glare so pointed, even Sam had felt it bouncing off from the reflection on the rear-view mirror. Cas learned quickly afterward to keep his opinions about enabling lower body blood circulation to himself.

The first night, they cram into a room with one mattress and a pull-out bed. Cas and Dean take claim of the bed without even asking Sam if he minds (no big, whatever), and manage to fall asleep with their limbs tangled together in less than the ten minutes it takes for Sam to pull the couch open, find the extra linens in the supply closet, and mold his body in a position comfortable enough for sleeping over the lumpy bed springs.

When Sam wakes up, he notices that Dean and Cas have somehow managed to divulge themselves of their shirts. Sam doesn’t wanna know anything about how that happened or what else might be naked under the sheets, dear  _lord_  he doesn’t. He runs to the bathroom for a shower before either of his jerk companions can beat him to it, and promises himself that they’ll book separate rooms the following night.

Sam despairs of his life when Dean comes back to the impala with only one key in his hand. They head toward their room, Sam and Dean carrying a duffle bag each.

“Hey, why didn’t you bring anything?” Sam asks Cas as he shoulders through the door, dropping his own bag down on the first bed he sees.

Cas shrugs. “Dean and I are sharing a bag.”

 _Of course they are,_  Sam thinks, partly exasperated, partly endeared.

“No hanky-panky while I’m five feet away from you, okay?” he pleads, though Sam knows his words stand no chance against their constant need to  _make eyes_  at one another. Cas plops down on the opposite bed, starts maneuvering the pillows around his body and back for optimal support, and wordlessly puts his palm out for Dean to slip the tv remote into.

“God Sam, we’re not  _teenagers_ ,” Dean counters while pulling Cas’s shoes and socks off for him, one foot at a time.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Well you’re definitely  _something_. I’m stepping outside to give Kevin a call. You have ten minutes to make out or whatever the hell else you can manage in that time, but then I’m coming back in.”

Dean picks up a pillow and motions to throw it at Sam’s direction, but Sam’s already opening the door and walking through it before Dean can take proper aim.

“You know, sometimes I wonder what I did wrong with that kid. He’s got a mouth on him,” Dean mutters under his breath.  

Cas smiles, pulling insistently at Dean’s wrist until Dean is sitting down beside him and settling against his shoulder to watch the crabbing documentary Cas had tuned in to.

“I think you did just fine,” Cas whispers in a kiss against his temple.  Dean puts his hand on Cas’s thigh, suddenly grateful for the solitude, and watches half-intently as a fisherman casts his net overboard on the television screen and says something about it being “the biggest catch ever.”

Another several hours of driving and two bathroom/snack stops later, they arrive at their destination at last; a small, seaside town somewhere south of Portland. (Sam makes absolute certain to rent out two rooms this time.  _Two rooms_.)

Hunts involving mysterious creatures of ill-repute can last anywhere between three days and two weeks, or so Winchester experience has yielded. With the added factor of it being ocean-related Sam has the perfect excuse at last to build himself a lab in the middle of a motel room, like he’s probably always fantasized about since boyhood. He has wires, laptops, an ipad, and what looks to be some kind of glowing green generator that Dean’s only seen the likeness of in Tron movies poking out from every available tabletop in their vicinity. Cas eyes a module blinking furiously at his direction and frowns.

“How did you fit all of this in the car?” Dean demands. Maybe even with a hint of respect.

“Detachable pieces, dude. Charlie hooked me up with  _so much stuff_ , I’m actually really—Cas, please don’t touch that.” 

Dean wanders over to the man in question and takes Cas’s hands between his own, laughing at the scandalized look on Cas’s face when the machinery he’d just been about to poke makes a loud beeping noise to dissuade him.

“Don’t you have something better to grope besides Sammy’s stuff?” Dean asks against the skin of Cas’s knuckles, eyebrows wiggling.

Sam clears his throat loudly. “Yeah, okay. Why don’t you both go do something useful while I hack the university databases?”

“Is  _that_  what the kids call it these days?”

Cas silences Dean by batting his mouth away and making for the impala key in the back pocket of Dean’s jeans.

“Sam’s right. Let’s go to the library and look up any lore we can find on the area,” he offers, fingers deft as he takes the key out and presses it into Dean’s palm. “We only have a couple of hours before it closes, I suggest we take advantage.” If he maybe spares a second to grab a handful of ass before he pulls away from Dean, that’s no one’s business but his own

Dean grins. “Whatever you say, boss.”

“ _Oh my god_ , will you two please leave my room already!” Sam wails, slinging a pair of headphones over his ears and dealing with absolutely no more of it.  _None_.

“Hey Cas,” Dean taps the plastic lip of a starbucks cup against his teeth, “how do you feel about a movie?”

“In a theater?” Cas stands at the bookshelves behind Dean, adjusting the volume on his music player. Last week, Sam had loaned him a tiny device called an ipod shuffle, deemed “kind of obsolete, but still useful” for his morning runs. Cas had since taken to keeping at least one earbud attached whenever he had a task that needed tending to. He’d simply clip the shuffle to the collars of his shirts while preparing meals or reading, and that would make the task go by much more enjoyably, he’d learned. Sam hadn’t told him what kind of music was on the device, only that Cas could benefit from acquainting himself with pop culture this way. Unsurprisingly, Dean had made several loud protests the first time he’d heard Cas humming an Adele song in the shower.

The acoustic prowess of a band (whose name has something to do with chili peppers or chip dip or the like) buzzes pleasantly in his left ear as the sound of  Dean taking a prolonged sip from his cup wafts across the right. Cas examines a book on local anthropology and wiggles it out from the clutches of the bookshelf.

“Yeah, in a theater, like the fancy folk. I’m sure we’ll have some down time later this week for it.”

Cas plops the book on top of another two he’d been holding and gathers them all in one hand as he makes his way over to Dean.

“Is this another date idea that you so slyly refuse to acknowledge is a date?” Cas points an accusing finger at Dean’s face.

“Who said anything about sly?” He smiles wolfishly, snapping his teeth forward as if to take a bite. Cas pulls his finger away and runs a hand through Dean’s hair in retaliation. 

“So come on, I haven’t seen a movie in an actual theater in months. Humor me.”

Cas takes a moment to place the books down, grabbing his own cup of coffee off of the table and taking a gulp. “Maybe,” he says, shrugging.

“Maybe?” Dean parrots. He reaches an arm over Cas’s hips and suddenly tugs him down until Cas’s thighs have landed sideways over Dean’s lap. Cas isn’t yet used to how easily Dean can move his body around this way (he was once the inconceivable weight of a galaxy inside of a single vessel, after all) but he can’t say that he dislikes the disadvantage per say—not when Dean uses the opportunity to wrap both of his arms around Cas’s waist and pull him closer.

“Trying to get saucy with me?” Dean whispers beside Cas’s cheek. His lips just barely ghost against the shell of an ear, making goosebumps raise pleasantly up the line of Cas’s neck. “That’s a shame.”

Cas struggles and fails quite horribly to keep the smile from stretching across his face. He covers his mouth with his coffee cup and pretends to pull away when Dean starts pressing kisses to the skin behind his earlobe. Cas can hear the oscillating sounds of a guitar solo and Dean’s breath at either side of his head, his skin warm under Dean’s palms, fingers, lips.

“Wanna check these books out and head back to the room?” Dean asks a little breathlessly. Cas doesn’t answer, only puts his coffee down along with his ipod and earphones, then braces his hands on the table top. Once he feels himself balanced between the table and Dean’s body, he rolls and hips down and grinds his ass shamelessly onto the bulge of Dean’s crotch, humming with appreciation when he earns himself a chocked-off groan for his efforts.

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean hisses, tightening his grip around Cas’s belly, “you wanna do this  _here_?”

“No one’s around, Dean,” Cas breathes, smiling faintly. He pulls away from Dean’s arms and tugs Dean up to his feet. When Cas offers a hand forward, Dean doesn’t ask any questions, just puts his palm into Cas’s and lets Cas lead him away from the open area of the desk. They walk past several bookshelves until they find a corner where two different towering stacks block them from view of the main hallway. Cas presses Dean’s body, shoulders to calves, against the rows of encyclopedias behind him and wastes no time in devouring the nervous protest from Dean’s mouth.

“You’re a kinky son of a bitch,” Dean says between kisses, tugging Cas closer, fitting their crotches together despite his trembling fingers and the quiver of uncertainty in his laughter.

“It’s alright, Dean,” Cas reassures him. He leans down to kiss Dean’s shoulder over the fabric of his shirt. “It’s just you and me.”

And  _that_ —Dean melts at that. He lets Cas kiss the smile on his face, the freckles over his nose, lets Cas trail his fingers down between their bodies and unzip their jeans with those terrible, wonderful fingers of his.

They’re standing face to face with their dicks out in some secluded corner of a library in Maine, and Dean Winchester is lost to the manipulations of this awkward former angel with his shy little smiles and his too-messy hair.

“I’m so freakin’ whipped,” Dean confesses while sucking on Cas’s tongue.

Cas doesn’t protest it.

After going through several massive books and all of the data Sam had collected from the night before (“Dean I don’t know how the hell we’ve been hunting without this technology for the past three decades, but  _let me tell you_ —!), the Winchesters three conclude that all missing persons were lost while  _in_  the sea, their vehicles recovered sans occupants—otherwise unscathed, but still distinctly waterlogged.

“So is this a ghost in the water or something? A drowned poltergeist?” Dean asks around the breakfast table of a mom ‘n pop, shaking salt over his omelet.

“I guess we’ll find out after we interview one of the victim’s wives today,” Sam responds, “And get this, she’s a university professor. She can probably give us access to news articles in their archives if we butter her up.”

Dean suddenly looks interested. “I call journalists writing about ‘unsolved aquatic mysteries.’ Romantic and sultry—she’ll eat it up.”

Sam stares very pointedly at his brother’s face. “Dude. You just wanna wear suspenders.”

“Shut up, I do not!” Dean chews on a piece of mushroom, “…but it’d be more believable with suspenders. Think about it.”

Cas sips on his orange juice and has an internal battle on whether or not to give Dean a kiss at that exact moment; honestly, the man has no idea how he looks sometimes. “We can purchase appropriate clothes for the interview, if you’d like.”

“You mean sweater vests with those boxey glasses for the indie internet writer look, Cas? I can see you in that.” Dean smiles sideways, eggs sticking to his chin. Cas reaches over to wipe it off and definitely kisses Dean then.

Sam, despite all of his complaining, smiles a little bit at the sight of them.

“A shopping spree? Really? We’re gonna be  _those_  people?”

“Oh heck yeah we are, Sammy. Embrace it,” Dean instructs, stuffing his face with more omelet the minute that Cas pulls away.

Sam watches as Dean and Cas twine their hands beside their coffee mugs, cheeks bulging with food, bodies huddled close in the tiny cubicle of the diner booth they occupy together like parenthesis. It’s a little odd, but also a lot awesome.

He thinks,  _I guess we_ are _those people,_  and takes Dean’s advice.


End file.
